


Late Night Interruptions

by orphan_account



Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8158000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Maureen blinks. "Clary, what the hell are you doing climbing through my window in the middle of the night?"





	

Maureen is awoken by a thump, vaguely registering a wince when she rubs her eyes.  
Despite her eyes' protest she turns on the lamp on her nightstand.  
"Clary?"

Clary looks up with wide eyes from where she's crouched on the floor.  
"Sorry," she says, "were you sleeping?"  
Maureen blinks. "Clary, what the hell are you doing climbing through my window in the middle of the night?"

Then she takes in the full picture presented before her.  
"Wait, what _happened_ to you?"

Clary is dressed in all black, but the blood on her bare skin can't be concealed, her knuckles are swollen and the cut on her forehead is standing out starkly against the white of her skin. The most distressing thing of all, though, is that Clary looks _happy._ She isn't smiling, but a persistent gleam sits behind her eyes and she's standing upright, shoulders squared, head held high. She looks more natural in the bloody attire than she ever did in her loose shirts and sweats.

It's disheartening to say the least.

Clary waves Maureen's question away and turns to close the window.  
"I'm really sorry, I wasn't going to stay, I just needed a quick get-away."  
"A-" Maureen takes a deep breath. "Clary, no offense, but you're not making sense in any way. Like, all possible explanations you could have for this are probably going to make me wish this was a dream."

Clary pauses, her head bent at an awkward angle so she can look back at Maureen. "Do you want one anyway?" It sounds small in the big room, the first sign that this doesn't come as naturally to Clary as she pretends.

Maureen considers. Of course she wants an explanation. Her head's been hurting these past few weeks, while she broke down Simon and Clary, their mysterious absence, their erratic behavior, the unreliable, cryptic texts and calls.  
Clary is offering this so easily, like she has nothing to hide, when she's standing in Maureen's room like a goddamn super hero, looking devastatingly pretty, making Maureen's heart flare. And it's all different, all of her, the change everywhere, like cheap paint slowly peeling off to reveal the true piece of art underneath.

She flexes a hand over her sheets, starts to tug at a loose thread. Whatever has happened, it seems all encompassing, definitely not like something to be talked about at - Maureen squints at the clock on her nightstand - three a.m., when Maureen's only gotten three hours of sleep so far.  
She turns her lamp back off.

"If I ask you to stay, so we can talk about it in the morning," she asks, "will you bail?" 

Clary breathes out, a little bit of the tension draining out of her body. "Right now, a good night's sleep sounds like the best idea you've ever come up with."  
"Hey! Who submitted Inked Hardware to the band name suggestion box?"   
"I stand by my point." Clary shrugs off her jacket and gets to work on her pants, pulling them off in a smoother motion than should be possible with such a tight cut. Her legs are eerily pale in what little light the moon provides. Maureen itches to touch.

After Clary pulls her bra out of her sleeve, she comes to a stop in front of Maureen's bed, silently asking for permission. Maureen lifts up her blanket in an answering invitation.

"We _are_ going to talk about this," she insists in as strict of a tone as she can muster up with Clary's hair all fanned out over her pillow, make-up smudged and the dried blood on her face and hands still frighteningly visible in the darkness.  
"I promise." Clary's eyes fall shut, her hand reaching out for Maureen's, linking their fingers together. "Oh, Alec is so going to kill me."  
"Who?"  
"No one." Her fingers are cold, but her knuckles are warm, which, Maureen guesses, is not a good sign. But then Clary's lips stretch out into a smile. "In the morning."


End file.
